


Welcome Interruption

by afacadeoffeelings



Category: Transformers: More than Meets the Eye, transformers: idw
Genre: M/M, Oral, Slash, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, interfacing, overloads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afacadeoffeelings/pseuds/afacadeoffeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly rough day, Ratchet takes a little time to himself...that Drift accidentally walks in on. However, given the moment, Drift opts to stay with Ratchet and help the medic relieve a little bit of stress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> {This was a request from a lovely person who wished to remain anonymous.}

“Let me at him! I’ll break off both of his scrapping horns!”

Though he said nothing, Cyclonus favored Whirl with a scathing scowl, dentas flashing briefly as he bit back a retort. Whirl was, for the moment, cuffed to the recharge slab, but he was making quite the protest about it. Glowering at Whirl, Ultra Magnus turned to the ‘bot and jabbed a digit accusingly at him.

“You started the fight, Whirl,” Magnus interjected sharply.

“Me?! Are you going blind from having your nose shoved in that Autobot code book too much? He obviously shoved me!” Whirl protested.

Magnus started to reply, but Ratchet stepped forward, holding a small welder threateningly. He was sick and tired of his med bay becoming a drama hub. There was enough tensions as it was, and there were some patients that needed as much peace and quiet as possible.

So when Magnus had dragged in a flailing Whirl with Drift escorting a seething Cyclonus, Ratchet had had half a mind to tell them they could just wait out in the hallway and he would tend to them there. Both ‘bots were carrying a good number of dents and gouges, but nothing that was life-threatening.

“One more word, Whirl, and I’m removing your vocal processor,” Ratchet grumbled.

Though he started to say something, Whirl thought twice and instead opted to sulk on the recharge slab. Cyclonus made a low scoff and narrowed his optics.

“Should remove it anyways. You’d be doing the ship a service.”

“Funny, Tailgate seemed quite pleased with my voice last night,” Whirl snipped back. “Along with other things…”

Standing up abruptly from where he’d been sitting, Cyclonus started towards Whirl, who immediately hopped to his pedes as much as the cuffs would allow. Reacting quickly, Drift put himself between Cyclonus and Whirl, which was enough to stop Cyclonus, though Whirl continued to try and goad the violet ‘bot. At least, he did until Ultra Magnus set a hand on Whirl’s shoulder and pushed him back onto the recharge slab.

Optics flicking over Drift quickly, Ratchet then glared at Cyclonus.

“The same goes for you if you’re going to antagonize him like that.”

Though he made a rough huff, Cyclonus allowed himself to be guided back to where he’d been seated by Drift.

“He’s only saying that because you react, you know,” Drift pointed out.

Cyclonus shot an exasperated look at the white ‘bot, but kept quiet. By this point, Ratchet looked more than ready to make good on his threat.

“Magnus, if you would please make sure that Whirl remains seated, I will start to work on Cyclonus.”

“Why is he looked after first? I’m suffering!”

The medic sighed heavily. It was going to be a long, long day…

* * *

By the time Magnus had half-dragged, half-escorted Whirl out of the med bay, every circuit, servo, and joint that Ratchet had ached. Not to mention, he could still hear Whirl’s complaining ringing in his audial receptors, along with Magnus’s “lecture” voice. Groaning softly as he cleaned off the recharge slab, Ratchet made his way from the med bay to his hab suite. He was in desperate need of, at the very least, a little time away from the med bay and to himself.

Drift had stayed during the entire ordeal. He’d pretty much kept Cyclonus from killing Whirl each time the blue ‘bot managed to take another verbal jab. Optics narrowing slightly in thought, Ratchet recalled how easily Drift had switched between trying to both keep the peace and reprimand both Cyclonus and Whirl for behaving the way they did. Of course, Magnus had had some sort of lecture ready, but it had only served to make Whirl break out into song about the lecture being a greater anesthesia than anything available in the med bay.

Again, Drift had struggled to try and quiet Whirl, and Ratchet had stood by as both he and Ultra Magnus tried to silence the blue ‘bot. Drift had had to stand on the tips of his pedes, waving both hands as he struggled to get Whirl’s attention. He’d leaned forward and Ratchet hadn’t been able to keep his gaze from trailing down Drift’s back to his hips, aft, and then thighs...

Now, without Whirl’s voice rattling around in his head, Ratchet’s thoughts, seemingly on their own volition, began to work with that memory. Unconsciously clenching his hands, Ratchet’s mind imagined them gripping at Drift’s hips, pulling the ‘bot against him. His hands tugging on Drift’s hips enough to press the ‘bot’s aft against his spike cap, reaching down to stroke along the inside of Drift’s thighs. Ratchet’s imagination even went so far as to have Drift making soft whimpers, imploring noises for Ratchet’s hands to work back up along his thighs and to his valve as it opened right as the tips of Ratchet’s digits flicked across it.

Groaning again, this time from a mix of the ache in his frame and a very different sort of ache that was working its way down from his hedonistic thoughts, through his insides, and to between his legs, Ratchet doubled his pace to get to his hab suite.

Reaching his hab suite door, he quickly opened it and closed it behind him. Striding over to the recharge bed, he practically collapsed against it, sighing heavily and momentarily covering his optics with one of his hands. He was exhausted, but every fiber of his being was tense and burning with a want that only his self-indulgent thoughts could have brought on.

Grumbling under his breath, Ratchet rested both hands on his chassis, contemplating over the thoughts that were still running through his mind. His spike cap was taut and practically demanding to be opened, and there were already the slivers of an overload charging up in him. Making a short scoff, Ratchet moved up so that he could rest his back against the wall that his recharge bed was set up against. He wasn’t about to deny that this was a far better way of easing stress than trying to drown it in Engex or actually try to make good on his threat to remove Whirl’s vocal processor. Besides, it’d help coax his recharge cycle along nicely.

Making himself comfortable, Ratchet opened his spike and valve caps, making a short pant as he did so. Letting one hand trail down his chassis, across his midsection, and to his now exposed valve entrance. His thumb traced around the base of his spike, while his other digits delved into his valve. Making a quiet grunt at the feeling of his digit tips along the soft, hot mesh of his valve walls as they drew up some of the warm, white-hued translucent lubricant, Ratchet then proceeded to spread the lubricant up along the shaft of his spike.

A shuddering groan thrummed from Ratchet as he leaned his head back, optics shuttering off to allow his imagination more room, and began to stroke at his spike. Slowly, for now, so as to let the warm lubricant spread around it and stimulate the overload charges that had started to coil up in him. Making a rough gasp, Ratchet reflexively arched his back slightly.

It didn’t take much for him to let his thoughts go free, imagining Drift atop him, riding his spike insistently. The younger ‘bot’s hands clutching at his chassis, straddling Ratchet as his thighs pressed against Ratchet’s hips, Drift making soft pants and moans as he rode Ratchet. Involuntarily biting down on his bottom lip, his dentas leaving small indents, Ratchet made his grip a little firmer, his carnal thoughts letting him believe that it was Drift’s valve responsively clenching around his spike as the younger ‘bot made a surprised cry as his overload notched up suddenly.

“Drift…,” Ratchet groaned through a heady pant. “Hn...that’s it, Drift.”

* * *

The first mutter of his name had only garnered a flick of Drift’s cerulean optics, but nothing more. It was only when he heard his name again, this time louder and with heavier emphasis, that Drift stopped in the hallway. The voice was tense and had the faintest hint of an imploring tone, and was regularly interrupted by pants. It was only when he heard his name a third time that Drift recognized the voice.

“Ratchet?” he asked quietly, looking around the hallway. He walked to the door to Ratchet’s hab suite slowly, trying to discern if Ratchet needed his help. “Ratchet, are you alright?”

Though Ratchet didn’t respond, he did say Drift’s name again, and this time, concern got the better of Drift. He darted the last few steps to the hab suite, barging through the door.

“Ratchet! I heard you! Are you al-”

Drift was cut off when he was smacked in the face with bedding from a recharge bed. Fumbling with the bedding and trying to regain his composure, Drift staggered slightly. The bedding was caught on the points of his helm, and he struggled to get it unstuck.

“Primus be damned, don’t you knock?!” Ratchet demanded angrily.

“You sounded like you were hurt!” Drift replied, finally managing to pull the bedding off his helm. “What were you doing...oh…”

Though he’d managed to yank the bedding over his waist, between the frustrated scowl Ratchet was giving Drift and the obvious rise under the bedding, it didn’t take long for Drift to figure out what Ratchet had been doing. Clutching at the bedding that Ratchet had thrown at him lightly, Drift glanced away, feeling himself start to blush.

“You were...doing that...and saying my name?”

“Yes, now I’m saying your name again. Drift, get out of my hab suite,” Ratchet growled, feeling both exposed and ridiculous. He was mentally kicking himself for not having locked the hab suite door. “Now.”

Though he shuffled back a bit, Drift didn’t exit the suite, and Ratchet was starting to entertain the idea of throwing something heavier at the ‘bot. Then a small smile formed on Drift’s features and he fluffed the bedding in his hands slightly.

“...you sure you want me to go?” Drift asked slowly.

“What? Yes! Were you planning on watching?” Ratchet demanded angrily.

“Well...more like participate,” Drift ventured.

“You...what?” Ratchet asked, relaxing slightly.

“I could help you with what you were doing,” Drift replied, closing the door slowly. “And you can say my name as loud as you want, too.”

Ratchet stared at Drift for a long stretch of silence, optics flicking over the younger ‘bot as he considered Drift’s offer. There was certainly no denying that the idea was keeping his overload charges humming excitedly…

“Alright,” Ratchet finally agreed, leaning back against the wall. “Just...make sure to lock the door before you get over here.”

Grinning widely, Drift promptly locked the door and then walked over to the recharge bed. He crawled towards Ratchet, gently tugging the bedding away to reveal Ratchet’s still lubricant slick spike and valve. Making a pleased “hmn” noise, Drift lay down on his front, kissing Ratchet’s thigh as he did so.

Feeling his overload charges start to tense back up as he watched Drift get situated between his legs, Ratchet lightly set a hand on Drift’s helm. His breathing returning to soft, heady pants, Ratchet gripped the bedding with his free hand. Drift was purposefully taking his time with the kisses, working them up along Ratchet’s inner thigh and occasionally dragging his glossa along where his lips had been. Groaning and gritting his dentas, Ratchet momentarily entertained the idea of pushing Drift’s face closer to his valve and spike, but the medic opted against it. The anticipation teased his overload closer, and Drift was making progress. ...very slow progress.

“Say my name again, please?”

“Drift...you’d better do someth-hngh!”

At the sound of his name, Drift buried his face up against Ratchet’s valve entrance, glossa lapping up the lubricant that had welled back up. His upper lip teased at Ratchet’s node, glossa tip trailing around the edges of Ratchet’s valve entrance. Making a pleased sigh as he felt Ratchet grip imploringly at his helm, Drift slowly pressed his glossa into Ratchet’s valve, greeted by a rush of heat and lubricant.

“Drift…,” Ratchet groaned, relaxing back against the wall.

Moaning softly and wiggling his aft as he delved his glossa back into Ratchet’s valve, Drift worked the tip along each crevice of the soft mesh, grinning inwardly when he felt the walls intermittently tense around his glossa. Ratchet’s hand worked down the back of his helm, along his neck, and then rested on Drift’s shoulder, the medic keeping his gaze on Drift the entire time. He could feel Drift’s glossa press along one wall of his valve, the white ‘bot trying to spread his glossa in Ratchet’s valve as much as he could.

Making a low, appreciative sigh, Ratchet returned to stroking slowly at the back of Drift’s helm and shoulder, groaning when Drift’s glossa delved deep again and ran across a particularly sensitive spot. One of Drift’s hands slid up along Ratchet’s thigh and began to stroke lightly at Ratchet’s spike. Making an inquisitive noise, his face still buried between Ratchet’s legs, Drift carefully wrapped his digits around the firm spike.

“Ahn...there you go, Drift,” Ratchet breathed, reaching down so he could better guide Drift’s digits and grip.

“I’m doing good?” Drift murmured, his lubricant coated lips brushing against Ratchet’s valve entrance and node.

“Very good.”

Moaning in response, Drift pressed his mouth firmly up against Ratchet’s valve entrance, his glossa sliding in and out of Ratchet’s valve at the same pace his hand was now stroking at the medic’s spike. Gasping and making a rough grunt as he struggled to not tilt his head back, Ratchet lifted his hips as he felt Drift’s glossa eagerly slide back into his now taut valve. The younger ‘bot was doing a well enough job of drinking up the hot lubricant he was stimulating from the medic, and as his hand continued up and down Ratchet’s hard spike, transfluid began to well up and slide down the shaft.

“Drift…,” Ratchet groaned, feeling his overload charges threaten to notch up suddenly. “Drift…!”

His overload charges doing just as he’d suspected, Ratchet bucked up suddenly, head tilting back and gritting his dentas as he did so. A short, quick pulse of transfluid throbbed from his spike and the hot, mesh walls of his valve tightened suddenly around Drift’s glossa. Making another, louder moan, Drift readily lapped up the lubricant, lips working across the valve entrance insistently before he lifted his head slowly.

Panting, Ratchet managed a half-grin as Drift dragged his glossa up along Ratchet’s spike, the transfluid sliding down into his partially open, waiting mouth. Stroking the side of Drift’s helm, Ratchet leaned back against the wall, the younger mech lapping up the transfluid before slowly closing his mouth over the head of Ratchet’s spike.

“Easy, Drift,” Ratchet grunted. “That’s...a little sensitive by now.”

A soft, purring noise hummed up from Drift’s chassis and he slowly guided the rest of Ratchet’s spike into his warm mouth. Groaning, Ratchet scraped the heel of one pede across the bedding, lifting his hips reflexively. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Drift slid two of his digits into Ratchet’s valve, sliding them in and out in rhythm with the pace his mouth was working up and down Ratchet’s spike. Making a hoarse chuckle, Ratchet stroked along the side of Drift’s helm again.

“Get at least another digit in there, Drift,” the medic ordered in between heady pants.

The idea actually caught Drift off guard enough that he paused, but only for a moment before resuming his oral gratification of Ratchet’s spike. The next time his digits slid out of Ratchet’s valve, Drift added a third digit, grinning inwardly at how tight the hot, lubricant slicked walls felt around them. Groaning loudly, Ratchet tilted his head back and shuttered his optics.

“Primus, Drift,” he gasped. “...slag it. One more.”

Though he had his reservations, the imploring tone in the medic’s voice overrode them, and Drift readily obliged, his fourth digit pressing into Ratchet’s valve. The tensity was enough that it temporarily threw off the pace that Drift had set, but the rough grunt that Ratchet elicited, coupled with the short pulse of transfluid from his spike, told Drift that he was doing well.

Gripping tightly at the bedding, groaning again, Ratchet bucked in rhythm with Drift’s digits, gritting his dentas as his valve worked to accommodate Drift’s digits sliding in and out with increased fervor. His pants accompanied by short, rough grunts of effort, Ratchet helped coax Drift into increasing the pace and insistence with which his digits were sliding in and out.

“Harder, Drift, harder!” Ratchet panted, having to grip the edge of the recharge bed at this point. “Ah-almost!”

Pressing his glossa as firmly against the shaft of Ratchet’s spike as he could, Drift once again obliged, making the same, pleased purr. Lubricant welled up around his digits and another pulse of transfluid spattered into his mouth.

Feeling his overload charges finally begin to peak, Ratchet made a series of rough, escalating cries as his back arched. His optics reflexively shuttered off and Ratchet gasped hoarsely as his valve tensed hard around Drift’s digits that were still fervently going in and out of the medic. Trying to stroke at the side of Drift’s helm as he felt the mech readily swallow the throbs of transfluid from Ratchet’s spike, but only succeeding in gripping at it with a trembling hand, Ratchet cried out again. Drift wasn’t relenting in his pace or fervor, and it only served to draw out Ratchet’s hammering overload.

“Drift!”

Bucking hard, feeling Drift’s glossa curve around his spike as the last throbs of transfluid pulsed from him, Ratchet groaned loudly through tightly gritted dentas before collapsing back against the bedding. His spike slid suddenly from Drift’s mouth with the action, and the younger mech carefully withdrew his digits from Ratchet’s valve, his digits still coated thick with lubricant. He heard Drift make a short, surprised sound, and Ratchet weakly lifted his head. Apparently, a final pulse of transfluid had managed to smatter across Drift’s lips and chin, and the younger mech was sheepishly licking it away.

Breathing slowly but heavily, Ratchet shifted on the recharge bed so he was back to a sitting up position. Drift sat up on his knees, tilting his head to the side as he watched Ratchet regain his composure. Another half-grin flashed across Ratchet’s features and he eyed the younger mech over, his gaze hovering on Drift’s thighs and hips.

“Drift, come here.”

Perking up, Drift crawled over to Ratchet, the medic patting right above his exposed spike as Drift did so. Straddling Ratchet carefully, the medic’s spike bumping against his aft, Drift grinned and leaned forward, resting his chassis on Ratchet’s.

“That had to be worth at least part of the embarrassment of me walking in.”

Making an exasperated growl, Ratchet glanced over Drift’s expression, which still wore the quiet, endearing grin that only Drift was capable of. Finally scoffing lightly, Ratchet leaned forward and kissed Drift quickly.

“Yes, it was worth part of it. Now, you’re going to make up the other part to me,” Ratchet stated.

His grin giving way to a puzzled expression, Drift lifted his head up slightly, but Ratchet quickly set a hand on the back of the mech’s helm and pulled him back down. Ratchet’s lips finding Drift’s, the medic kissed Drift deeply, glossa slipping across Drift’s lips. Drift made a whimpering moan, trying to catch Ratchet’s glossa with his own, but Ratchet pulled back.

“How? How do I do that?” Drift murmured.

“Ride me.”

His grin returning, this time with an added note of excitement, Drift wriggled back up into a sitting position, his valve cap opening quickly. Setting his hands on Drift’s hips, Ratchet helped the younger mech up, carefully positioning him over his spike. There were still streaks of opalescent transfluid running down from the head along the shaft, and a few drops of translucent lubricant pattered down onto the head of Ratchet’s spike.

“Somebody’s excited,” Ratchet commented, looking up at Drift.

Biting down on an index digit, Drift gave Ratchet a sheepish smile. Making a low chuckle, Ratchet guided Drift down onto his spike. The younger mech moaned loudly, clutching at Ratchet’s midsection the moment he was able to do so, making a couple of short pants.

The tensity was incredible, and Ratchet was soon very appreciative of the level of Drift’s arousal as he felt the hot, slick mesh walls envelope his spike. Groaning and gritting his dentas, Ratchet reflexively dug his digit tips against Drift’s hips. He hadn’t anticipated Drift to be this tight, and the soft, hot mesh walls slid against his spike teasingly as Drift wriggled around to get comfortable.

“Hnh...easy...easy,” Ratchet panted, his overload charges still hot and easily worked back up.

“Did I hurt you?” Drift asked, sounding mildly alarmed as he went stoic still.

“No,” Ratchet breathed. “...you’re quite the tight fit.”

Though he fought to stay still, Drift blushed profusely and slightly covered his face with his hands.

“Should I be sorry, Ratchet?”

“Not in the least,” the medic replied, pulling Drift back down against him. He kissed Drift firmly, his glossa slowly exploring the mech’s mouth, eliciting a soft moan from Drift. One hand on the back of Drift’s neck, Ratchet’s other hand traced down Drift’s back. Gripping firmly at Drift’s pert aft, chuckling when Drift made a surprised mewl, Ratchet carefully began to guide Drift up and then back down on his spike.

“Hnn...Ratchet,” Drift whined, pressing his chassis against Ratchet’s as the walls of valve were once again spread apart by the medic’s spike.

“Yes, Drift? Did you need something?” Ratchet asked with a smug grin.

“Feels good,” Drift panted, licking his lips.

“Do that again.”

“What?” Drift asked, looking both flushed and confused. “This?”

When Drift licked his lips again, Ratchet promptly pulled the younger mech’s lips back to his, catching Drift’s glossa between his lips gently. Moaning, Drift slipped his glossa past Ratchet’s lips and pressed his glossa against Ratchet’s, the medic groaning his approval. Drift had picked up on the motions that Ratchet had set, and the mech was keeping a slow, but consistent pace. Ratchet could feel Drift’s warm lubricant slipping down around the base of his spike and down to the entrance of his valve, further adding to the carnal stimulation.

“Hn...Drift,” Ratchet groaned, arching his back to press his spike deep into the mech.

“Ohh…”

Burying his face against the side of Ratchet’s neck, Drift panted hard, his overload charges humming through his frame. Reflexively bucking with a sharp cry, Drift kissed fervently at Ratchet’s neck and then jawline.

“Faster,” Drift gasped. “Please...can I go faster?”

“You can,” Ratchet replied in between his own, heady pants. He smirked at the younger mech. “Now the question would be may you?”

Making a shuddering laugh, Drift trembled as his overload charges notched up, sending flares of heat through his circuitry. He was starting to think that Ratchet had spent too much time talking to Ultra Magnus, but, then again, he did have a point. Leaning down, Drift kissed Ratchet firmly, whimpering as he forced himself to keep the slow, pleasurably torturous pace that Ratchet had set.

“Ratchet,” Drift whispered. “Oh, Ratchet...may I go faster?”

“Much better,” Ratchet murmured, kissing the corner of Drift’s mouth. He then pulled Drift close enough he could whisper at the side of Drift’s helm. “Go faster…!”

Moaning audibly, Drift promptly obliged, rocking back and forth on Ratchet’s spike insistently, feeding his overload charges that were now at the point of demanding release. Grunting at the added stimulation, Ratchet clung at Drift’s back and aft as the younger mech increased the pace. Drift’s entire frame was trembling with the pent up energy and excitement, and Ratchet groaned loudly when he felt Drift’s valve tense promisingly around his spike.

“Ratchet…!”

Drift suddenly bucked hard, making a surprised cry as a spatter of transfluid pulsed from his spike and across Ratchet’s midsection. Feeling the younger mech start to slow down, Ratchet pulled him back down for a hard kiss, swatting lightly at Drift’s aft.

“Keep going,” Ratchet growled into the kiss.

Whimpering, Drift worked to oblige, but his overload charges were making each movement more and more halting. Gritting his dentas, he pushed himself up, reluctantly breaking his kiss with Ratchet, and began riding up and down hard on the medic’s spike. Panting with short cries, Drift clung at Ratchet’s chassis, the medic’s hands having gone back to his hips to help him keep going. Bringing Drift down on his spike hard each time, Ratchet gritted his dentas. His overload charges were hammering at his senses, looking for the last bit of stimulation to get them to peak, but the medic wanted to hear and feel Drift overload first.

His overload charges burning hard at his circuits, Drift tilted his head back, moaning loudly as another pulse of transfluid spattered onto Ratchet’s midsection. Gripping at Ratchet’s chassis, Drift bit down on his bottom lip as he felt his overload charges start to peak.

“Ratchet! Ratchet!” Drift gasped, his back arching.

“Drift…!”

An ecstatic, incoherent cry pulled itself from Drift as his overload finally snapped free, every sense going into a wild, heady rush. Vaguely aware that Ratchet was still managing to bring his rhythmically tensing valve down on his spike, Drift tried to cry out the medic’s name, only managing half of it in the midst of his overload. His spike pulsed transfluid with his overload, and Drift suddenly felt Ratchet buck up hard into him, followed by the first, hot throb of transfluid from the medic.

It had taken every last ounce of will to keep his overload at bay once Drift had really started riding his spike hard, the younger mech’s pants and cry echoing in the room. The moment that Drift had started to overload and his taut valve clenched firm around Ratchet’s spike, Ratchet’s overload peaked immediately. The flurried, erotic release raced through Ratchet’s senses, his digit tips digging fierce against Drift’s hips. His head snapped back as a shuddering groan rumbled from the medic, and Ratchet clung tight to Drift’s hips as the younger mech rode out his overload with short cries and pants.

Whimpering as his overload subsided, the last pulses of transfluid leaving him, Drift breathed out and leaned down against Ratchet, once again resting his chassis on the medic’s. The older mech was breathing hard, and, for the time being simply held Drift to him as he worked to regain his composure. Grinning, Drift reached up and gently caressed the side of Ratchet’s face.

“Not so bad when I barge in, now is it?”

“Not at all,” Ratchet panted. He then looked up tiredly at Drift. “Next time, though, knock first.”

 


End file.
